


Bring Him Back To Me

by medelrey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, R plus L equals J is implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7782565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medelrey/pseuds/medelrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melisandre glances at the dwindling fire in the corner of the room. “I saw him. I saw him fighting in the flames at Winterfell. He had great power; but he’s lost now. The dead can neither hear nor help the living.”</p>
<p>“No,” Sansa insists, grasping Melisandre by the shoulders. “I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. One day I will be Wardeness of the North and I demand you bring Jon back to me.” She’s sure her cheeks match her hair, red and burning with fury. “Do you understand?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Him Back To Me

**Author's Note:**

> based on the request: sansa finally arrives at castle black but before the resurrection so she sees everything. obviously some of the dialogue is pulled from the show.

Sansa Stark gazes at her brother on the table. Her dead brother. How long she had travelled to reach Castle Black, through the sleet and snow to the very last person in the world that could protect her, all for nothing.

She touches his hair, his neck, the bare collarbones and gapes at the wounds on his chest. “I’m not going back there alive, Lady Brienne. Do you understand? When the Bolton armies come for me, I’ll not go.”

Brienne looks torn. “I swore to protect you and that’s not-”

Sansa stares her down with such a harsh glare that Brienne doesn’t finish her thought. “Jon was Lord Commander; The Watch will house us until the armies come.”

“It’s not safe here. We mustn’t stay long.”

“Then I’ll have to think of a plan quickly, won’t I?”

**

Sansa hears whispers of the Red Woman, but she’s never seen her. Brienne tells her of Ser Davos, begging her to bring back Jon. “Bring him back? Like a ghost?” Sansa laughs without humor.

“I do not know, my lady. But after everything I’ve seen, I do not doubt there are spells to do such things.”

Sansa stares blankly, examining her braid closely. “Then what are we waiting on?”

“My lady, this is dark magic. Your brother has died and I am so sorry. But this is no way to bring him back. 

“What other options do I have? Is it any worse than what Ramsay will do to me when I’m brought back to Winterfell in chains?”

Brienne bites back a retort, nodding tightly, gripping the hilt of her sword.

“Take me to me to her.”

When Melisandre opens her door, she's not anything Sansa expects. Sansa anticipates a woman of fire but finds a frail, broken one instead. She’s still beautiful in a way that makes Sansa turn her head away almost in intimidation. But then she finds herself and pushes through the doorway. “Can you bring him back?”

“Only the Lord of Light has that power. I cannot pick and choose. I am powerless in this. The Lord…”

Sansa sighs and cuts her off. “You are my only hope.”

“I am afraid you place too much trust in me, my lady. Hope is the end of us all.”

“He’s my brother,” Sansa whispers, “I need him.”

Melisandre glances at the dwindling fire in the corner of the room. “I saw him. I saw him fighting in the flames at Winterfell. He had great power; but he’s lost now. The dead can neither hear nor help the living.”

“No,” Sansa insists, grasping Melisandre by the shoulders. “I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. One day I will be Wardeness of the North and I demand you bring Jon back to me.” She’s sure her cheeks match her hair, red and burning with fury. “Do you understand?”

“The Lord of Light…”

“No,” Sansa says again. “You will try. And you will try right now.”

Melisandre studies Sansa for a moment, watching her carefully before she gives a slight nod. “Make sure the Lord Commander’s chambers are empty except for those who must be there.”

“I need him; do you understand? I _need_ him.”

“Yes, my lady,” she says. “We all need someone.”

**

Sansa stands in the far corner of the room, next to Ghost as she watches the ritual take place. She can feel Brienne’s unease pulsating through the room, along the few people left from the watch. It feels wrong doing this, but what choice has fortune left her? She watches with careful eyes as the red woman cuts pieces of Jon’s hair, tossing them into the fire and mumbling under her breath. The words she says are too quiet to hear and Sansa’s not sure who to pray to for help or comfort. No one would listen, anyway. No gods have listened in years.

She clutches Ghost’s fur, eyes locked on Jon’s chest, silently begging for it to move, for his heart to pound and for Melisandre’s magic to work. Sansa’s throat constricts as she sees the first attempt fail, counting backward from five just to see if by some trick it’ll work. It doesn’t. Melisandre begins again, but it ends the same, and Sansa starts to lose the hope she held on to as she traveled through the snow and ice.

“Again,” Sansa bites, raising her voice. “You can’t give up on him.”

“My lady…” Brienne says. “I don’t think…”

“Try again,” Sansa commands. “Bring him back to me.”

Sansa can hear Melisandre whimper, sees the small tears leak out of her eyes as her attempts fail over and over. The room slowly empties out one by one until there’s only Brienne, Melisandre, and Sansa left. Sansa refuses to cry; she’s spared enough tears for those who are lost forever. But then Ghost whines and shakes Sansa’s hand free of his fur and nuzzles Jon’s fingers.

Sansa’s sure her heart stops when her brother awakes with a start, gasping and clawing at the table. She wonders if it’s still him, all dark hair and broody, if he’s still as kind as he always was, even when she was awful to him. He looks around the room like he can’t place himself with wild eyes and white as a ghost.

“What did you see?” Melisandre begs him. “What did you see on the other side?“

But all Jon can do is look in the corner of the room; to his sister, the girl with the burnt auburn hair and beautiful crystal eyes. She was there, in the abyss, beautiful and kind, loving, with her thighs locked around his face and her fingers ripping a golden crown from his hair. He can hear the way she laughs as he hits the floor, uncaring, the giggles soon silenced by moans as he slips inside of her.

He sees the dragon on the tapestry above Sansa’s head as he fucks her, holding her hips and pushing into her like she’s heaven. He can hear the way she calls him a king, _her_ king, the way she moans his name when she comes on his tongue and begs for more. Jon sees her sitting next to the Iron Throne, gorgeous Sansa, with an ice diadem braided into her hair. She looks every bit the Northern Queen she’s meant to be; dressed in hues of dark blue with furs around her neck.

He blinks as he looks at her again, remembering the vision of her with two children in her lap, a boy with dark curls and violet eyes and a little girl with Tully red hair and Jon’s grey eyes. They call out "father!”, rushing to his knees and Jon hears Sansa whisper in his ear, “Another babe, Jon, give me another babe.” He sees the Targaryen sigil upon his breastplate, Sansa’s fingers tracing over the immaculate detailing of the three-headed dragon as she smiles at him like they own the world.

But then Ghost moves and he sees Sansa stir, crossing the room to take him in her arms. “Nothing,” Jon says into his sister's hair. There was nothing. I saw nothing.“

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me screeching about everything jonsa @ mattysigh.


End file.
